Til Death Do Us Part
by Aemilia Rose
Summary: A woman waits in a shabby hotel room for her lover. Who is he? More importantly, who is she?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own FMA. If I did, Ed and Al would both get their bodies back and live happily ever after on Al's alchemic kitty farm (joke aimed at CaptainKase. :D).

**Summary:** A woman waits in a shabby hotel room for her lover. Who is he? More importantly, who is she?

A huge thanks to my fabulous beta, CaptainKase. I love you, sweetie!

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'**Til Death Do Us Part**

_Such elegance…_

She gazed into the mirror, locking eyes with her reflection. Flowing curtains of dark hair brushed against the small of her back as she shifted positions in order to observe herself more closely. Her smooth complexion, glowing with a deep bronze hue, was free of blemish.

_Like silk…_

She smoothed her hands up her forearms and shoulders, relishing the feel of such flawless skin bathed with sweat. Warm, moist… sensuous. Her fingers played across flesh, straying across the curve of her shoulders and onto the soft cushion of her breasts.

_Irresistible…_

She continued to revel in the beauty of her body, slipping hands beneath the loose, half-unbuttoned nightgown that couldn't possibly have been designed to preserve modesty. It was perfect. All perfect. She smiled, and green eyes glittered back at her from the mirror. Tonight was the night she'd been waiting for.

_Tonight!_

She wasn't waiting in this rotten dunghill of a hotel room for nothing.

She brushed away a stray patch of dust marring the beautiful image in the mirror. The room was quite disgusting indeed, especially for a woman of her refined tastes. The air was polluted with dust and odors permeated every dark, dank corner. The mattress had several broken springs, and judging from the filth on the sheets, it had been a while since they were washed.

But, this is where he had asked her to wait for him.

So she would be a good little girl and do as he had asked.

They'd met in few better places. It was the price a woman paid when she set her sights on a married man. One can't let the little wife in on the secret… So instead, private meetings are arranged in the fouler districts of the city. Furtive liaisons took place in the shadows, always just on the cusp of being completely out of sight. The hustle and bustle of nightlife usually were enough to shield the dirty, immoral things that took place in these hotel rooms.

There was a knock at the door.

Not just any knock… two light taps, and then a couple resounding pounds in quick succession.

That was _his_ signal. The signal to open up the door to let him in so that he could use her to satisfy his lustful urges. Well, he would just have to exert a little self-control for a few moments. She needed him to hold on just a little longer while she finished putting on her make-up.

She popped the lid off of her blood-red lipstick and slid it over the supple curves of her lips. Slowly – carefully – not too fast, now. Then came the blush, to give her cheeks a healthy, breathless heat.

He knocked again.

She only smiled, continuing her motions in that same measured pace. He could wait. He knew she was in there, just like she knew he was probably wriggling in anticipation by now. After the blush came the mascara - slowly – carefully – not too fast, now.

Another knock, this time with a more frantic undertone to it.

A mischievous grin danced across her mouth. Who ever said she couldn't play men like a piano?

Give him what he wants right away, and there's no excitement, no adventure. It's just 'hello,' sex, and 'goodbye.' A woman can't keep a man long if that's all she can give him. Because after all, everyone knows that the only thing the bastard is after is the sex, and if you don't spice up the experience for him, there's no guarantee that he will come back.

_But_ –

Make him wait. Add in an element of anticipation to the mix… and suddenly the whole thing is taken to a new level. Let him know that _she_ is the alluring body he lusts after, _she_ is the naughty slut that gives him what his boring wife cannot, _she_ is the one who provides that euphoric high he so desperately desires with all his primal being.

_She_ is the one in control.

Once the man gets through that hotel room door, all semblance of civility will have fled. Suddenly, this gentleman with a home, a business, friends, a wife, children, is reduced to nothing but a groaning, moaning, drooling animal. He will fall all over himself get what his body tells him he needs.

_Another knock…_

He will be open, undefended… vulnerable.

"Diane?" the voice came muffled through the thick door. "You in there?"

Standing up, Diane gave herself one last once-over in the mirror before heading for the door. He'd been kept waiting long enough – any longer would be inhumane. She was not _that_ cruel.

Latching the door, she opened it until it pulled on the chain. Putting on her best pout, she met the fervent gaze of the man on the other side. "Honestly, I'll never understand men like you," she drawled let her voice drop to a deep, husky tone, "No patience at all!"

He gave a nervous laugh. "I have no chance against the likes of you, little vixen! You can be merciless, you know that?"

"Careful now," Diane murmured teasingly, "Someone might be listening! Don't want to give ourselves away, now do we? What on earth would we do if your ugly whore back home found out that you're here?"

The light, playful mood shattered like broken glass. "Don't talk about my wife that way, Diane," he growled. "We agreed to keep my other relations out of this, remember?"

_Men!_ She rolled her eyes in disbelief. What contradictory creatures! They go out and sleep with other women, but still take offense at any slights made against their less-adequate partners. As if admitting that their own wives' performance in bed is lacking and seeking refuge in the scum of the cities was not insulting enough! Surely there was a double standard in there somewhere.

"Yes, of course. Forgive me," she relented and unlocked the door.

_Marriage is such a flimsy, transient thing_.

The door opened with a creak.

She was only able to catch a brief glimpse of pale hair, tall body, and black suit before he rushed in. Without a word, he hurried to claim what he came for. Suddenly Diane was shrouded in huge, muscled arms. Crawling hands combed through her hair, stroked her back, drifted down to caress her buttocks. A warm, wet mouth pressed against the side of her neck.

"My, my, my," she laughed throatily, "Eager tonight, aren't we?"

He made no answer except to continue brushing his lips across the smooth expanse of her skin, hungrily seeking more flesh to taste. A shiver went up her spine as she felt the bristles of his beard tickling her earlobe.

Gently spinning him around in a dirty mockery of a waltz, she kicked the door shut and led him towards the edge of the bed, taking a moment to pull off his glasses and toss them onto the nightstand. He complied, but she was quite sure by then that he was no longer capable of accessing the higher brain functions that would have allowed him to resist if he'd wanted to. It wouldn't be long now – he was already panting hotly and heavily into her neck.

A subtle thrill began to stir in the pit of her being.

It took a lot to stimulate her these days. She'd been with so many men, but she had found so few that had the ability to rouse that flustered, breathless, _sinful_ side of her that positively _ached_ to be released sometimes. It pained her to be confined to a frail body and be unable to live out the naughty pleasures that were supposed to come along with flesh and blood.

That's what made the rare men like this so special.

They had the power to liberate her.

She couldn't help but be aware of how fickle the bastards were, though.

They lived two separate lives on two separate playgrounds. During the day, they played by the society's rules, living out their perfect little lives in their perfect houses with their perfect families. At night, the men packed up that façade, bundled that false, happily-ever-after chessboard into the closet, and lived out their _real_ lives. Only under the cover of darkness could they unleash that inner passion that flared through their masculine veins like a wildfire. They sought to be set free through alcohol, through warm bodies, through the exhilaration that came from knowing they were doing something of which society – and their frumpy little wives – would not approve. They ravished the sense that they had control over their lives.

_Fools_.

Diane's attention was brought back to the present situation. She was lying on her back now, and her lover loomed over her, pressing his hot, sweaty body roughly against hers. An excited gasp tore itself from her throat.

_He was perfect!_

Take this man, for example. He probably thought that he had made the decision. He was the one who decided that his wife was not meeting his 'needs.' He was the one who went out searching for some appealing young woman with whom to act out his most basic instincts. He was the one who approached Diane, sweet-talked her straight into the bedroom.

_Men are such fools._

When it had, in fact, been she who'd had him pegged from the start. _She_ who'd picked him out from the untamed mass of healthy, able-bodied males. _She_ who'd pulled the strings, luring him straight into her trap.

_Such wonderful, _spirited _fools!_

Lifting up her hand, she felt along the edge of his strong jaw, taking into careful consideration the thick beard that brushed her fingertips. He was too absorbed in his task to notice her observations. She felt the heavy muscles of his back, ran her fingers through the soft strands of blond hair he'd kept pulled back in a ponytail. She'd always admired blonds…

_Yes… perfect_.

"Uh oh, baby," she mumbled between gasps, nudging the man above her lightly. "I think we better stop."

He let out a low moan of pleasure before speaking, "Mmmwhy's that?"

"I think you might be in trouble," she said while slipping her hand under the edge of the mattress. Her fist tightened around the object she found there.

"Don't be stupid. Nobody knows I'm here, Diane."

"My name is not Diane."

She pulled out the lead pipe and swung it down against the back of his head.

Hard.

_He had it coming to him. _

_He was a damn fool when it came to love. _

_He had the capacity to yield such amazing pleasurable results, but even though he looked beyond his wife to reach that potential, he still kept himself chained back. He held onto to old-fashioned ideals, like the presence of reason and logic, the eternal bond of marriage, the idea that humans are in control of their own destinies_.

_Humankind is a race of idiots. Reason and logic are abstract terms in the grand scheme of the universe. Reality is far more chaos than order. Humans have no more control over their destinies than a leaf does over the path the wind carries it. And there is certainly no such thing as eternity._

_At least…_

A droplet of blood snaked down his forehead and dripped onto her cheek.

_It didn't exist for lowly men like this._

After making sure he was still breathing (albeit shallowly), she rolled the limp, lifeless body off of her and crawled to her feet.

_They have their own uses, though._

She tip-toed over to the telephone, a rusty old thing that had seen better days, and dialed the number that had been scorching the back of her brain for months, waiting for this very moment.

A click on the other end… someone picked up.

"Hello?"

She smiled at the familiar voice, one that would soon be lost to the depths of time. "Hello, my darling. I picked out a new suit for you, would you like to come and try it on?"

An eager pause.

"Of course, thank you sweetheart. Where should I meet you?"

"The Holston Hotel. Room 48."

"I'll be right over, dearest."

Click.

She lightly hung up the phone and stole a glance at the motionless bleeding man sprawled across the dirty, hotel mattress. He had such a handsome body, full of poise and grace.

_Perfect._

Such a body deserved better than what its previous owner's meager mind and soul had to offer.

She'd picked out a great one, this time.

Hohenheim would be so pleased.


End file.
